Stella Snape and the Pensieve
by LeahHightower
Summary: Severus Snape's daughter Stella really does like it at Hogwarts, but she will soon be of age and is yearning for broader horizons. Before he lets her go, however, Snape decides that she needs to know some things from his past.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This story assumes a "next generation" world in which Severus Snape survives the Wizarding Wars, and is married with children, which happens at the end of my first (and much longer) story. But this story should still make sense without having read that one.**

Stella Snape swiftly climbed the stone staircase to the owlery on a sunny February morning. The air was cold and her breath was visible as she turned the corner and stood at the top, panting. She was alone in the room with the noise of the birds, and took a moment to appreciate the relative solitude. She did love owls, even though the smell of them all together was something she only wanted to tolerate in small doses.

"Come here, Spectre," she cooed, making kissing noises to a large tawny owl who soon alighted on her arm.

She was a sharp-eyed girl with long black hair. She had recently added dark green streaks to her hair, which to all appearances was an expression of Slytherin pride, and it was... though if she was honest, it had been partially prompted by too many people mistaking her for her younger sister from behind. Jane was only a second-year, but was already nearly as tall as she was as a fifth-year.

"Stupid robes," she muttered, kicking her hemline out of the way as she bent over to attach her letter to Spectre's leg. It was going to be a long distance, but she knew he could do it. Owls had special ways of traversing distance that even she didn't understand.

She swept out of the owlery while holding her robes up slightly to avoid tripping on them on the way down the wet and possibly icy stairs. She hoped it would only be a few days before she heard back. This was a correspondence that had been ongoing since the Triwizard tournament the previous year, and she was quite eager for the next reply.

* * *

It came at breakfast three days later, as she sat with Celina Birkenstock and Paige Mayer. They were the only two who knew of her plans. Spectre dropped the heavy envelope into her lap and flapped away.

"Well that's a rather large envelope, Stella," Paige noted, sleepily. Celina knew at once what it was.

"Your application! Is it here?"

"Yes!" said Stella, excitedly, as she opened it to pull out several large, official-looking forms and letters.

"I don't see what's so exciting," Paige sighed. "If you do this we won't see you for a long time."

"That's right," said Celina, looking glum.

"Oh, I'll visit."

"Sure you will," said Paige, "until you meet a boy and decide to stay there forever."

"Oh please," Stella scoffed, perusing the writing on the forms and turning them over in her hands.

"So what have your parents said about this?" Celina asked.

"Oh... nothing. Yet," said Stella, distractedly.

"You haven't told them?"

"I will. Soon."

"Yeah, you'd better," said Celina.

"Well, I have to," said Stella, holding up a piece of parchment. "Because at least one of them has to sign this before I can apply."

* * *

Of course, which parent to ask was the question. Stella swept along to potions class, waving at Everly Smith as she passed, making a fluttery hand motion at Silas Grimes. It had been their little inside joke after an unfortunate incident in herbology class. She turned down a deserted corridor and finally had a moment to think.

Contrary to what many of her friends might have assumed, her father, Severus, was not necessarily the disciplinarian of the Snape family. He certainly gave that impression, but when it came right down to the nitty-gritty details of life, it was usually her mother who made the rules and enforced them.

She tried to pay attention in Professor Pandyrim's class, but kept getting lost in thought as she played out scenario after scenario in her mind. It didn't really matter, of course, because they'd both know soon enough. But by the end of class she had mostly decided that her father was the one to bring it to first.

After classes, she approached his office. As she thought about it, it had been quite a few weeks since she'd last been there. She'd grown up there, of course - at least, in the sitting room beyond, and additional bedrooms that had been added on to accommodate her and her siblings. But she had become accustomed to the dormitories for quite a while now, and usually just visited the infirmary or stayed after class if she needed to talk to one of her parents.

She knocked on the door. She knew he didn't care, but there was always the chance she could be interrupting something.

"Yes?" he said. She walked in.

Her father was bent over his desk, working on a potion. His graying hair fell out of the way as he watched her enter the dim room.

"Oh, hello," he said dryly. "What's going on?"

He always started out in his teacher voice, even though Stella was sure he didn't mean to. But she just kept talking like a daughter instead of a pupil and he always came out of it after a few moments.

"Well, I had something I needed to ask you, if this is a good time," she said, walking over to stand in front of his desk.

"I suppose," he conceded, setting aside a jar filled with murky water and something squirming around in it. Stella cringed inwardly but tried not to show it. Potion-making was not an art she'd ever really developed a love for.

She looked at him. He was looking at her, his dark beady eyes that she'd inherited were fixed in attention. It was now or never. She took a deep breath.

"I want to go to Durmstrang next year. As an exchange student. They have a program. And... I want to apply. But... I need a parental signature first." She held up the parchment. That had sounded much choppier than she'd intended. She was more nervous than she realized. She reached out and set the parchments on his desk.

Her father stared at her. His expression did not change.

Finally, he tipped his head just slightly and uttered "Durmstrang."

Stella wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question.

"Yes."

"Why Durmstrang?" His lapse was over. He was back in his teacher voice again.

"Well... it's a really good school. And I have some friends there that I met last year at the tournament and I've been writing to them ever since. I just... I like the way they describe their lessons and I want to try something new."

"Who are these friends?"

"Lucia and Pietr Lindberg."

"Lucia I remember," he said, a bit more slowly. He'd had her in class since she'd stayed for the year with her schoolmates. "But not the other one."

"Pietr is her younger brother. She was here during the tournament but he couldn't come because he's my age. But he visited and I got to know the whole family."

"He's your age. I see."

Stella reddened. "What?" she shot back.

Snape raised his eyebrows calmly. "Nothing. Why?" he said, with a questioning look.

Stella lowered her eyebrows angrily. He was trying to bait her. Of course he was.

She thought he was going to fire back. But he didn't. To her surprise, he just sighed and stood up, pacing around behind his desk. This was what she liked about him. The calm, quiet pondering. Her mother would have just started chattering and exploding in questions by now.

"Durmstrang," he said again, as if trying to remember something. "A former headmaster was a friend of mine. Ever heard the name Igor Karkaroff?"

Stella shrugged. "Nope."

Snape sighed again. Of course she wouldn't have known that name. He sat back down and looked at her across the desk.

"I'm going to need to talk to your mother about this."

"I assumed you'd say that."

He shrugged. "We make these decisions together." Stella almost scoffed. What on earth were "these" decisions? Xavier had certainly never asked about anything like this. He was a model student and loved it at Hogwarts. Not that she didn't. Maybe he was referring to the big huge enormous deal they'd made about Xavier's band, Xavier and the Wiz Kids, playing a show at a pub on Knockturn Alley. It was pretty much the biggest deal her family had ever made about anything, and to her recollection it had been mostly her mother. She almost rolled her eyes just thinking about it. It's not that she was intending to unseat Xavier's request (which was eventually granted), but she really should have realized that this would be an even bigger deal than that.

There was a pause for a moment.

"So I guess that's where we leave it for now," he said, curtly. "We'll have to talk it over tonight."

"Okay," she said, somehow unwilling to just leave it there. "I... I hope she'll understand. I really want to do this. I've been wanting it for months now." Somehow she couldn't think of anything else to say. She excused herself and left.

Stella sighed as she swept down the corridor. Perhaps she had gone about this all wrong. Since her mother was the strict one, she should have taken it to her first. That way she could have made her pleas in person to her, as much as she would have hated it more, rather than wasting them on the one who, she was sure, would need much less convincing in the first place.

And why had she reacted that way when he'd made that remark about Pietr? He may not have intended anything by it. It was true, Pietr was her age, or not much older. And she loved talking to him. And her letters to him always seemed to end up longer than the ones she sent to Lucia. But they were both her friends! Lucia was pretty much the big sister she'd never had. She told herself that she didn't see what gender had to do with it.

Oh well. It had been done. She determined not to think about it, and would just need to hang back and wait to see what they said. She resolved to follow up with her father as soon as she could the next day.

* * *

Severus had seen his wife at dinner, but not to really talk to. It wasn't until she had finished with a meeting that she returned to the sitting room adjacent to his office. He was still babysitting his potion experiment, which had taken him longer than he planned to get it going, but he finally reached a point where he was comfortable leaving it for the night, and came into the sitting room too.

Leah was organizing some old record books, a task that she'd volunteered to do for the infirmary after hours, when she had the time. She had many papers spread out over a sofa and was bending over them, her long hair hastily pulled up in a bun.

He sat in the chair next to the sofa she was working on and sighed. Leah looked at him. He never sat there. He looked as if he had something to say.

She looked at him and raised her eyebrows slightly. He sighed again.

"Did Stella talk to you today? Or did she come to me first, hoping I'd convince you about it later?"

"No," Leah replied, shaking her head. "I don't think I saw her today, actually. What does she want?"

"She wants to go to Durmstrang next year as an exchange student."

He had anticipated her response. Leah's eyebrows raised a lot more and she turned to face him.

"What? Really? Durmstrang? Why on earth would she... it's that boy, isn't it? I saw her talking with Lucia's brother several times. Oh dear. Well, I mean, he seemed like a nice young man but I know nothing about the parents at all."

"Well," muttered Snape, "you're quicker on the uptake than I am. So apparently I didn't even know there was a boy. I just learned about him this evening." He briefly related their conversation.

"So what do you know of Lucia?" asked Leah. "She came on a few errands with me and Stella, and I thought she seemed very pleasant. More of a mature, calming influence on Stella, not silly and giddy like some of the other girls. Was she a good student?"

"Yes, yes... she seemed very... serious. Definitely took the subject matter seriously. I almost wonder if that concerns me more."

Leah sighed. "Oh here we are, running to judgments on every front."

"Well, we have to," Snape said. "It's just... she has no idea," he burst out, suddenly talking much faster than he usually did and pacing across the room. "None of them do. This generation is so insulated from the true darkness that we all lived with and fought against daily - the darkness that came so close to overwhelming our world, twice! They don't know anything about it. It's just something they read about in the history books and hear stories from their parents about, and lectures about from me and their boring History of Magic professor, but it's not real to them. They think they're impervious to it."

"Well," Leah said, slowly and thoughtfully, "you're right. They don't know it. And I have to wonder whether that may be what's driving our daughter. Maybe she sees in Durmstrang students a more integrated approach, and perhaps it gives her a longing to be better informed about what she's studying."

"What can she get there that she can't get here?" Snape almost shouted.

Leah paused for a moment, looking into his eyes, by now effortlessly practicing years spent learning to get to the bottom of his occasional outbursts. He met her gaze but then sighed, and the intensity in his face gradually lessened.

She spoke very quietly but firmly. "Severus. Does it feel like your daughter is insulting your teaching by requesting the opportunity to learn somewhere else? Is that what has you upset?"

Snape sighed again and sat down in his chair. "I don't know," he said, wearily. Leah had a knack for asking uncomfortable questions like that. "She has certainly had a different experience here than the other students," he acknowledged.

Growing up at Hogwarts was a privilege afforded to very few, but with parents who both worked at the school, their four children had no choice but to become "Hogwarts brats," making friends with the ghosts, following Hagrid around to get glimpses of magical creatures, and coming to know Minerva McGonagall as their "aunt."

Of course, Snape and Leah had done what they could to give their children something of a "going away" experience when they finally turned eleven. They still packed them up and dropped them off at the train station so they could get the experience of riding the Hogwarts Express for the first time like everybody else. Xavier had done it every year and looked forward to it. Stella had stopped after three. She decided it was silly to take a train somewhere when she lived there anyway.

"I suppose," he conceded. "I like to think I've given her every opportunity that she needs. I've tried to present the Dark Arts both theoretically and practically. But I don't use the same approach as Durmstrang and I have my reasons for that."

"And you shouldn't feel like you have to defend your reasons either," said Leah, quickly. "You know what you're doing, and I don't think this in itself was at all intended to be a criticism from Stella. She's just... she's almost sixteen. She's already a young lady. I knew we couldn't hold her here forever," Leah said, in a resigned tone.

"And she challenges me, too," Snape admitted. "She's always coming up with new problems to solve, new ways of looking at things, new hypothetical questions to ask. Her brain works very much like mine does, and it's a little unnerving sometimes."

"So what do you think we should do?" Leah asked.

Snape began thinking more practically. "I think that if she does this, one of us should visit her at least once a week, or require her to visit here. Travel can be arranged. She must come home for all major holidays."

Leah nodded in agreement.

"We should make sure she understands the importance of returning to Hogwarts for her last year."

"Yes."

"And..." Snape's voice trailed off. He appeared deep in thought.

"What is it?" Leah asked.

"I think I need to show her something. It won't be easy, but it has to be done. I want her to _get it_. To understand just what the Dark Arts can do to people."

"Oh? How are you going to do that?"

"I'm going to ask Minerva if I can borrow the Pensieve."


	2. Chapter 2

"Have you heard anything yet?" Celina asked Stella the next morning.

"No," she shrugged, nervously playing with her prefect badge.

"Are you going to go ask him after you eat?"

"No. I don't really want to have a conversation in the middle of breakfast. I'll track him down if he doesn't find me by lunch," she said.

Stella quickly entered the dorm room to switch books around before her next class. Her bed was a mess. She knew where everything was, but didn't always see the need to organize it every single day. One book was under her pillow, and the other she quickly pulled out of her bookshelf. A piece of parchment had gone flying as she rearranged her bed. Quickly, she grabbed it and glanced at it. It was her last letter from Pietr, which she'd been keeping under her pillow. He had warmly encouraged her to apply for the Durmstrang exchange program, and written about other things as well.

She pictured his face and his wavy dark hair as she fondly peered at the parchment. She held it close and read the last paragraphs again, as she had already done so many times, imagining his voice and accent as she read:

 _I cannot say for sure of course, but based on the other exchange students I have met, you would have a great chance of being accepted. You take your studies seriously, and you seem to have a drive to succeed. I noticed that about you very quickly. If there is any way I can help you achieve what you want, please let me (or Lucia) know, and we would be happy to recommend you to the professors that we know._

 _I really enjoy talking with you. You really think about things and turn them over in your mind. I would love to be able to talk with you every day._

And that was where he had ended it and hastily signed off. She marveled again at how good his English was, considering it was his second language. She felt a flutter in her insides, and suddenly realized she was smiling. Well, of course. There was no _real_ fooling herself. She did like him very much. _But for many reasons,_ she was quick to remind herself. She had to wonder whether others were seeing something that she wasn't yet willing to admit.

* * *

It was past noon when Stella's father finally caught up with her. She had just finished lunch and the Great Hall was emptying of students when he strode by her table.

"Well?" she asked, looking up at him with something of a hopeful smile.

"I'd like to discuss it further. Is tonight a good time?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. When?"

He shrugged. "Whatever works for you. Seven? Eight?"

"Seven is good," she replied.

"Very well. In my office at seven," he said, as he strode away.

"It almost sounded like he was giving you a detention," Paige giggled after Snape had left.

Stella shrugged. "That's just how he talks. I'm used to it by now." She glanced over at Celina. "What are you smirking at?"

"Oh, it's just... you shrug exactly the same way as your dad does."

Stella rolled her eyes. "Oh good grief." She gathered up her things and began heading off for class.

"And you roll your eyes the same way too," Celina called right before she got out of earshot. She was acting annoyed but was secretly optimistic. If he wanted to discuss it further, then surely there was hope. He wouldn't make her wait all this time just to say "no." He would have had no problem doing that outright. Of course, he probably had all kinds of hangups and questions, probably from her mother. But she was ready.

* * *

Her mother caught up with her at dinner that evening. She sat down next to her as the meal was winding down and students were leaving.

"So what's this I hear about you wanting to leave us?" she asked in a somewhat playful manner.

Stella shrugged. "They have a good program. It sounds like it'd be an adventure."

"I can understand that," she said. Stella was a bit taken aback. "You probably feel like a bit of a fixture here, sometimes."

"Eh... not as much as Dad does, probably." Stella was feeling a bit bad for letting her father be the one to break the news to her mother.

"Whoa, family pow-wow?" drawled Jane, dropping by their conversation. Jane was tall for her age and had a thin face, as well as a slightly nasal voice that got on Stella's nerves very easily.

"Oh look at that, it's over," Stella said.

"What's going on?" Jane asked, more seriously this time.

"Your sister's thinking of leaving us," said Leah.

Stella sighed. "Thanks, Mum."

"What? Whoa, you? Where? Durmstrang so you can be with your _boyfriend_?"

Stella's eyes blazed. "Shut UP!" she managed to growl, through clenched teeth. "I do not have a boyfriend!"

Jane shrugged and gave her the obnoxiously smug I-don't-believe-you look she had perfected so early on in life. "That's only because the Hogwarts boys are all afraid of you."

"Darn right," Stella said, indignantly. She avoided swearing in front of her mother.

"All right, girls," Leah sighed. She stood up to go but briefly rested her hand on Stella's shoulder before walking away. Jane flounced off after her younger Slytherin friends, leaving Stella alone at the table.

 _Afraid of me?_ she thought as she strode away from the table. It was true that she had become the girl no one wanted to duel in dueling club. She was up near the top of the standings, ahead of many of the boys. What was wrong with that?

* * *

Stella glanced at the clock several times after dinner, just to make sure she didn't lose track of time. She didn't want to be early, but she found herself easily distracted and not in a very conversational mood. The Slytherin common room was buzzing with chatter and she had a hard time focusing on her thoughts. She also had to send two of the first-years to Professor Pandyrim for a disciplinary issue.

She decided she'd leave and take a stroll around the corridors before any other prefect duties came up, and then head for her father's office when the time got closer.

She passed a few students and the occasional professor, but didn't stop and chat with any of them, as she often did. Her mind was fixed elsewhere. She hated feeling like she was gearing up for a debate, but she was really curious about what kinds of objections her father would raise. She felt a determined need to keep one step ahead of him. Goodness, if anyone was reading her thoughts they'd think he was an ogre.

"Is he mean?" That was the most common question from students in her first year, when they finally heard or figured out that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was actually her dad. She would always just shrug and say "No, not really." She understood the question better as she got older. He did certainly have a strict classroom presence, and required attention and hard work from his students. But she was used to that. He'd always had high expectations of his children, and she wasn't bothered by it. He challenged them, and it usually paid off when they got their OWLs back.

It was still sometimes unsettling to realize that no one else had to read about their own dad in History of Magic class. Well, except James Potter. But he wasn't her year. She remembered the glancing and gawking directed at her when Professor Binns first uttered the word "Snape" during the lesson on the second Wizarding War. Which he followed up by announcing in his usual monotonous and detached manner that Professor Snape was still teaching at Hogwarts. "Er, yeah," Stella had thought to herself. Celina had begun frantically taking notes at this statement, and hissed to Stella "Write this down! It will probably be on the exam."

Stella giggled as she walked, just thinking about it. She was so fortunate to have friends who made her laugh. She would miss them.

She had gone through a phase about a year ago when she'd deliberately sought out books in the library about the second Wizarding War, just to find the mentions of her father. Reading about him from an outsider's point of view felt strange, but also a bit exciting, like a detective story of sorts. It's not that he'd never mentioned his "spy life" to them as children - and when they'd first found out, they would question him about it quite frequently. But reading about it as some kind of objective, factual narrative rather than just an anecdote he would relate now and then... seemed somehow... powerful. Set in stone. Yes, her own father was indeed a decorated spy who had secretly worked behind the scenes to help bring down Lord Voldemort. It was true. All the books said so.

Stella had traveled all over the castle by now, and sat down on a stair to catch her breath. She'd almost lost track of where she was going. As she sat, she glanced up at the wall. This wasn't a way she usually came, and the portraits were not very familiar. One stood out to her. It was a portrait of a woman with bright eyes and red hair. She looked fairly young, and had a subdued smile on her face. The portrait lady caught her eye. Stella looked away. She knew it wasn't polite to stare, even at a portrait. She was surprised when the woman spoke to her. Portraits often struck her as rather self-involved.

"Hello," she said mildly.

"Oh, hi," said Stella.

"You look lost," the woman laughed. "Need me to direct you anywhere?"

Stella shrugged. "No, thank you. I'm not lost, just resting from my walk."

"I see."

Stella got up to leave.

"Wait," the woman pleaded. Her brow was knit in a puzzling sort of way. "Can you look at me for a moment?"

Stella brought her eyes back to the portrait and stepped closer. It was an odd request. Was she at a healer's appointment or what?

"You look somewhat familiar," the woman said slowly. "Can I ask your name?"

Stella was a bit confused, but saw there was no need to be apprehensive of a portrait.

"Stella."

The portrait did not seem satisfied and kept looking, as if waiting for something else.

"Stella Snape."

She couldn't quite describe the expression that passed over the woman's face. It was a knowing look, as if she had just finalized something, connected the dots, made a discovery.

"And what's your name?" Stella asked, now genuinely curious.

"Lily... Potter," she said.

Stella raised her eyebrows. Harry Potter's mother! She was sure of it. She'd heard she had a portrait at the school, but had never thought much about it. Suddenly, she glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly seven.

"I'm sorry, I really need to go to my appointment," she said. "It was nice meeting you!"

"You also," said Lily. "And Stella?"

"Yes?"

"You have your father's eyes."

Stella looked taken aback, but decided not to stick around and ask more questions. Perhaps another day. She walked quickly down to the next level, getting closer and closer to the dungeon. What on earth did that mean? Her father had known Harry Potter's mother? She did some quick math in her head. Well, yes, it made sense... they would probably have been about the same age, even though the woman in the portrait looked significantly younger than her father did now, pushing sixty as he was.

Soon she was at his door. She quickly shook off her encounter with Lily and tried to steel herself for whatever was coming. A lecture about the evils of boys? A warning against Dark Magic, or a belittling of Durmstrang's teaching methods? Time would tell. She knocked quickly on the door and then entered. It was seven o'clock exactly.

Her father was sitting in his arm chair, which was kept slightly off to the side of his desk. He was looking around indignantly as she came in, and Stella realized he must have fallen asleep.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Don't worry about it," he said, seeming slightly flustered but soon returning to normal. "Goodness, I was just going to sit and rest for a moment and the next thing I know, you're here. I'm getting old," he muttered.

Stella decided not to make any response to that.

He stood up and moved to his regular chair, and looked at her.

"Right, so. Durmstrang." He paused for a moment. "Your mother and I did discuss it last night, and came up with a few concerns about the whole idea."

"Of course," she muttered.

He folded his hands and leaned back in his chair, before continuing in his deep and commanding voice. "Durmstrang is very far away."

"Yes."

"So, we would have to require you to return for all holidays, and check in at least once a week - by visiting Hogwarts or one of us visiting you there."

Stella raised her eyebrows. "So, you mean, I can do it?"

He raised his finger for a moment. "With a few conditions that I am currently in the middle of detailing."

"Yes, right," she said, meekly, but feeling the excitement inside of her. That was it! She could do it. She had almost been expecting multiple meetings and debates ahead of her.

"I would also like to actually make a visit to the school with you, before any official acceptance takes place."

"Oh good, I would like that too," she said, beginning to smile.

"And," he continued, "I want very much to impress on you the importance of returning to Hogwarts for your last year, for many reasons."

"Oh yes," she said, "I wasn't considering otherwise."

"Good," he said. There was a pause. He seemed to be about to say something, and then stopped.

"So..." Stella began. "Can I send in the application then?"

"Er, yes," he said, shuffling around on his desk and finding the parchment. But he didn't hand it back to her. "I do also want to remind you of a fact that you may already be aware of, which is that Durmstrang takes a very different approach in their instruction of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Yes, I know," she said simply.

"Do you?" he raised his eyebrows. "Have you considered how difficult it will be for you to integrate yourself into that kind of environment when all the rest of the students have already had five years to acquaint themselves with the way things are done there, while you have had none?"

"I understand that I will be at a bit of a disadvantage going in," Stella conceded, "But I'm ready for the challenge. I've been reading up and preparing as best as I can."

His face softened, momentarily. She was every inch his daughter. But then he narrowed his eyebrows again.

"Just remember," he said severely, "The Dark Arts can be very seductive."

"Dad, I _know_ that," said Stella, digging in her heels and fighting the temptation to roll her eyes. She had hoped he would mention Grindelwald - she had studied up quite a lot about how the school had evolved since his time, but she went with what she had.

"Did you know," she countered "that since the end of the second Wizarding War, Dumstrang has observed a yearly event called _Remembrance Day_?"

"Oh?" he asked.

"It is their way of giving their students a continuous reminder about what the Dark Arts are capable of. It's a very solemn event. They cancel classes for the day and listen to lectures from survivors, and finish with a ceremony in which they pledge to honor the lives and legacies of those who fought against the Dark wizards in the Wizarding Wars, and even before, during Grindelwald's time. That's why Lucia and Pietr knew who you were before they even arrived here, and that's why Pietr was so eager to shake your hand, though you apparently don't even remember that."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "I met many Durmstrang students and family members that year," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't remember the name of every single one."

"Either way," she said, "based on what I've heard and read, they take the Dark Arts very seriously, and that's why they use the approach that they do."

Snape sighed. He leaned back in his chair again. He again appeared to be about to say something, and then stopped. This wasn't like him.

"Stella," he finally said. "You know what I was in my past, don't you?"

"A spy."

"Well, yes. But before that."

"Before that? Well... you were a Death Eater for a little while first, right?"

"If by 'a little while' you mean more than three years in the service of the Dark Lord, then yes."

His voice had dropped in tone and Stella found it almost eerie. As well as his use of "the Dark Lord" rather than "Voldemort," as if there was still some lingering trace of respect or deferment there.

He sighed and leaned forward. "I want to show you something. It's something that will probably make you uncomfortable, but I really think it needs to be done. I'm concerned that too much of your understanding of history has come from textbooks and not from me, and I apologize for that."

Stella looked puzzled. What was he talking about? He beckoned her over to the corner of the room, and raised his wand to lock the office door. She came over to where he was and noticed a table in the corner with an odd-looking bowl on top of it. As she came closer, she noticed a white, cloudy-looking substance swirling around inside of it.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's a Pensieve," he answered.

"Really?" she asked breathlessly. "I've heard of those. They allow you to look into the past, right?"

"They allow you to experience specific memories again. Those are a few of my memories in there. And if you come with me, we can experience being in the scenes themselves as they unfold. Like I said, this won't all be very pleasant. But I want you to see it all the same. I believe you're mature enough to handle it. Shall we?"

He held out his hand. She grabbed it. "Just follow my lead," he said. He leaned slowly into the bowl, and Stella followed after him. Suddenly her stomach lurched as she felt herself falling, falling, falling, and she grabbed on more tightly to his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Stella fell through the darkness and landed suddenly, quickly letting go of her father's hand, but still remaining close to him.

She saw they were in a dimly lit room with wood floors and walls, and shabby furnishings. The only person in sight was a man in the corner who appeared to be dressing. He was pulling a shirt on over his head as they approached him. He was rather pale and skinny. Suddenly, he pulled his shirt on and Stella saw his face.

The very first thought that entered her head was _Jane_. She didn't really mean it as an insult to her sister - it was quite clear that this was a young Severus Snape, but the resemblance was undeniable. Same narrow face, prominent nose, jet black hair. Of course, her sister's face was far more feminine and delicate-looking, but still.

The man turned slightly and Stella felt like ducking out of sight. Her father noticed and said, "Don't worry. No one can see or hear you. It's nothing but a memory."

"Right," she said, still feeling the need to speak quietly for some reason. She couldn't help but feel that she was disturbing something.

The man was putting on a long robe, and and begun buttoning it up when the door across from them opened noisily. Stella jumped as another man entered the room. He had dark hair and facial hair, and a bit of a wild look in his eyes.

"Igor Karkaroff," muttered her father. "Future headmaster of Durmstrang Institute."

So this was what he wanted to show her? Some particular witnessed misdeed of one of Durmstrang's past headmasters?

"How are things going?" he asked young Snape, clapping him on the back.

"Fine," the young man muttered.

"You ready for this?"

"I think so," young Snape said with an emotionless sigh.

"Good," Karkaroff said jovially. "Now here's his picture," he said, holding up a small picture of a man, which Stella couldn't get a good look at before he put it away. "Ezra Hockenstock. We believe he should know the locations of at least five others, too. So, leaving soon. Almost ready?"

"Almost," answered young Snape.

"Right," Karkaroff said, making a move to leave. "Oh," he said, pausing at the doorway. "And if things don't go according to plan, just remember - they're only Muggles."

Stella shivered as she watched his devilish and enthusiastic grin.

After he left, young Snape put a mask over his face, and a strange hat on his head. Death Eater garb, she suddenly realized. She'd seen pictures of it in one of the book's she'd read. Somehow, seeing it in real life was more chilling than she imagined it could be. But at the same time, it was her father. She knew him. He seemed somehow tame even within such a terrifying outfit.

It was quiet for a moment while he finished his preparations. "How old were you?" Stella asked quietly.

"I was eighteen," Snape said solemnly.

Only two-and-a-half years older than she was now. It seemed so surreal, seeing him right there. His face was hidden now, but she could picture it clearly. It was so very different than her father looked now, not only because he was older now and not so skinny anymore, but just... his expression. There was something there that was different: restless, angrier, even dangerous. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. But before she had time to ponder, he was grabbing his wand and striding out of the room. They followed.

For a moment, Stella enjoyed the sensation of being able to walk through walls. They burst forth from the building into a dark night. Up on a hill, a little ways away from the house, stood several other masked Death Eaters. One stood forth to motion Snape over.

"Karkaroff," hissed her father. Stella followed the two until the memory suddenly went dark as the group apparated. The reappeared in a wooded clearing, and slowly, methodically began making their way down a path that led to a house. It was a white house with cheery lights in the windows and smoke coming out of the chimney. It felt so eerie, striding along among them.

Snape and Karkaroff were ahead of the crew, and stopped just outside the door. They paused for a moment. Then Karkaroff made some kind of nodding motion at Snape, and Stella watched as her father knocked down the door with a quick blast from his wand. They entered the house, and suddenly there was chaos. Stella glanced all around her, watching hooded figures running about, casting spells, dragging a struggling man into the living room, and then she looked behind her and saw another Death Eater dragging a screaming woman. Both looked middle aged. They were held securely, struggling and pleading until finally the last Death Eater arrived with a teenage boy who was also struggling. Her couldn't have been much younger than Snape himself.

With a few waves of wands, the three of them were quickly tied up and pushed to the middle of the room. The man was the only one who had been carrying a wand, and had been disarmed.

Stella watched as one figure stepped forward with his wand drawn. The room was in disarray, and the fire cast frightening flickers over the hooded figures standing about, emphasizing the terror on their victims' faces.

"That's me," her father said, indicating the figure who was approaching the victims. He needn't have indicated, because his voice, though younger, was still quite recognizable.

"Ezra Hockenstock," he said, with a slight inflection in his voice.

"What do you want?" the man asked, firmly.

"We need you to give us some information on a Mr. Frank Longbottom. We know who you've been associating with," he spat bitterly. His voice was authoritative sounding, but also a bit strained.

"I know nobody by that name-" he began, but Snape leapt forward and pointed his wand right at the man's neck.

"Oh yes you do!" he shouted, prodding him. "And if you won't tell me anything, I'll make it very difficult for you."

"There is nothing to tell," the man said, steadfastly.

Snape paused for a moment. Then suddenly his wand thrust forward and he shouted "Crucio!" A bright light flew from his wand to the man and he was knocked back onto the floor. The woman screamed.

Snape was questioning the man again, but the woman kept on screaming. She sounded like she was hyperventilating, and it was hard to hear anything above her voice. Stella wanted to look away, but she knew she needed to see. It had already happened, she reminded herself. Nothing she could do would stop it. She watched the woman and felt such pity for her, and a growing sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Stupefy," Snape finally shouted in annoyance, knocking her over backwards as well. The room was quiet, except for the whimpering of the boy.

"Tell me," Snape was saying treacherously, as the man, panting deeply, tried to inch his way away.

"I told you," the man said, more weakly this time. "I know nothing."

"Crucio!" Snape shouted again, shooting the beam of light into the man and watching him writhe on the floor and cry out. Stella caught a glimpse of another Death Eater stepping up to Snape and say something to him in a very quiet tone. Stella couldn't hear what was said.

Snape forced the man to roll back over so he could see his face. "I'll give you one more chance," he said, viciously. "Or else it will be his turn," he pointed the wand at the young man, who cowered back against the figures behind him, who shoved him forward again.

"Tell me where Frank Longbottom is. Anything you can tell me about his whereabouts." Stella felt troubled hearing her father speak so harshly. She had certainly seen him angry before, and even heard him speak angrily to her, but never anything like this. She could feel her arms tensing up and her heart pounding in her ears.

"I-I don't know," the man sputtered weakly, "where he is today. All I can tell you is where he was yesterday."

"Then do it," Snape pronounced slowly, in a deep, murderous tone. His voice had become more dominant and powerful as the affair had gone on. He seemed somehow so much older than eighteen.

The man was talking, and Stella was watching her father listen to him, but didn't really catch what he was saying. Before long the three captives were rounded up and marched/levitated out of the house and down the hill.

The memory faded to black, and then another one began.

Stella saw her father in a dark room, standing in front of a man with a dark hood over his head.

"Lord Voldemort," her father whispered. Snape stood before him, unmasked and kneeling.

"...and do you swear by all you are, to serve me for the rest of your life?" he was asking him in a slow and quiet voice. They had entered the memory in the middle of a very serious conversation.

"Yes," said Snape.

"To do my bidding, to remain faithful to all I am on pain of death?"

"Yes."

"Your arm," said Voldemort.

Snape reached forward and pulled his sleeve, revealing his pale forearm. Voldemort pointed his wand at it and began a very long and terrible-sounding incantation, finishing with a sudden flash of light, and a searing sound, as if flesh were burning. Perhaps it was.

Snape had cried out and seized his arm. Voldemort strode away, leaving him doubled over on the floor.

Her father had unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it up to reveal the Dark Mark again, all these many years later. Stella had seen it a few times as a child, but not since beginning at Hogwarts. She shuddered internally.

The memory faded, and again they found themselves outside a house at night.

There were three Death Eaters hiding behind a tree, gazing at the house, and whispering to each other.

"This was the house of a Ministry of Magic official, only he was absent this night," said Snape. "We were there to find some information we believed he'd hidden inside."

The three Death Eaters started up the hill, but before they reached the door, they were startled and thrown back by a bright light, which they quickly deflected with shield charms.

"Must be his wife," shouted one of the Death Eaters - a female voice. Stella was surprised, though realized she shouldn't have been.

A full-on battle erupted, the woman in the house holding her ground, casting spell after spell at them with lightning speed. She had the advantage of darkness and cover of the house, but as time went on, the three of them began to overpower her. Lights and incantations flew back and forth, and soon the Death Eaters were closing in.

A spell hit the female Death Eater, who cried out in anger as it sent her sprawling across the grass. She began unleashing a volley of curses, and when she next caught sight of the woman's through the broken window, she released her fury on her. "Avada Kedavra!" she screamed, sending the spell with such speed that the woman had no time to react.

Stella gasped as she followed them into the house. The woman lay crumpled against the windowsill, her long blond hair sprawled across her face.

"Muggle scum," muttered the Death Eater. Stella noticed that the last of the three to enter the house was her father.

All of a sudden, they heard a cry. All stopped and listened. There was a baby in the house. The realization dawned on Stella and she covered her mouth with her hands. The scene faded to black.

"What about the baby?" she asked her father, urgently. "What happened to it?"

"I don't know," he said. "We didn't harm it. As far as I know, the father or a relative came to get it."

"As far as you know?" Stella looked horrified. She had already missed the beginning of the next scene, in which Snape, unmasked, had been eavesdropping outside a room in an inn. Her father redirected her and had to explain, as he was thrown out of the inn, that he had overheard a prophecy, which he then relayed to Voldemort. Stella tried to refocus and pay attention, but had a hard time taking her mind off what had just happened.

In the next scene, her father was begging a wizard for something. He was tall and had a long white beard and hair, and Stella suddenly realized that this was Dumbledore. She heard their conversation, and realized that this must be where Lily came in - that her life was what he was begging Dumbledore for. She watched his face as he spoke. He looked years older than the young man in the dim room she had first seen. Many years older - much more than three. His hair was a stringy mess and he looked like he hadn't slept for days.

She had never seen him so agonized. But it got worse as the scene faded out and they found themselves in what looked like an office at Hogwarts. Snape was there with Dumbledore, and he was crying. But not the way most people cried. He wasn't weepy or sniffly or anything like that. He moaned and panted as if he'd been badly injured, and had no hope of healing.

"We don't need to see much of this," her father muttered. "Suffice it to say, that my friend Lily was killed because I relayed a piece of the prophecy I overheard to the Dark Lord."

Suddenly, the scene faded out and Stella felt herself swirling around and suddenly exiting the Pensieve, coming to rest on the floor of her father's office. She got up and felt so strange. There they were, back in the room as if nothing had happened. Candles were lit and a roaring fire was going in the fireplace. It was almost cheery, but she couldn't get those sounds and images out of her head. It was all wrong. What had he been trying to do?

She had to admit that her first impression had been wrong. He had obviously not intended solely to sully the name of Karkaroff and, by extension, Durmstrang. So what was the point?

"Well?" he asked, a bit gruffly himself, as if even he had been shaken by his own memories.

"Well what? It's horrible," said Stella.

"Yes, it is. All of it."

Stella found it so strange to think of him having such an emotional connection to a woman who wasn't her mother. It seemed almost wrong. Of course, her mother certainly knew of it and accepted it, but... it still felt odd, thinking about who he was and what he did before she had even existed.

"I hope you have been able to see the common thread running through all of this, just the same," he said.

"What - that people can do horrible things to each other?"

"Yes. And the Dark Arts can lead them to that, slowly but surely. They're very dangerous."

"Dad, I _know_ that," she said, a bit on edge from the depths of what she'd just seen, and becoming defensive as well. "You've spent my entire life telling me how terrible the Dark Arts are - do you really think I haven't managed to pick up on that by now?"

He shifted in an irritated manner and faced her. "I know you know it in your head, academically, but your knowledge has been so far quite contained to a classroom. If I thought knowledge was enough, I'd stop there. What I really want you to understand is that the Dark Arts are _seductive_. They pick at your insecurities, pull at your desires, and mold your beliefs before you ever do anything you'd consider repulsive."

"So you showed me all this because you don't trust me, is that it? You think I'm stupid?"

"No, of course not!" he retorted, almost shouting by now. "Do you think _I_ was stupid? I'd had more years of education than you when I got into all this. Do you think the Dark Lord was stupid? Was it mere stupidity that drove Karkaroff or the Lestranges or anyone else who carried out horrible acts alongside me? Believe me, they were all intelligent people who'd gone through many years of Defense against the Dark Arts lessons too."

Stella didn't understand why, but she could feel her emotions rising and her face growing hot, and was afraid she was going to have some kind of outburst if she remained in this exchange much longer. She couldn't cry in front of her father, she just couldn't.

"Thank you all the same, but I am capable of handling myself in a different environment. I have studied up on this as much as I can and now I need to just go do it."

She left the room and flew down the hallways, glad they were mostly deserted by this point. She hurried through the Slytherin common room and went straight up to her bunk, where she sat and tried to process everything that had just happened.

The woman fighting for her child. No wonder her father knew Lily's life was doomed when he'd witnessed the ferocity of a mother's love. Who was that terrible female Death Eater anyway? What kind of woman kills a mother? What kind of man, for that matter?

She hadn't actually seen her father kill anyone. Surely he would have shown her that if it had happened, right? Well, aside from Dumbledore, but everyone already knew about that one. It was different.

But he'd used the Cruciatus Curse at least once. She envisioned him doing it again and then tried to shut it out of her mind.

She knew he'd meant well in showing her all this, but she still felt insulted. Like he really didn't believe she could handle life.

Suddenly, she was startled by an owl entering the room and plopping an envelope onto her lap. She picked it up and opened it. It was her permission form, and on the line for parental signature was the name _Severus Snape_.


End file.
